The Rose That Broke Her Heart
by brokenstitches
Summary: Sometimes it doesn't pay to take a risk. She should've known better. Oneshot. RWSM


_Author's Note: This story is loosely based on what had happened to me two Valentine's Days ago. It was written two years ago and I'll be honest and say that it wasn't my best piece of writing. However, I recently came across this again whilst looking through some folders on my laptop and decided to publish it here anyway. Thank you for reading :)_

**The Rose That Broke Her Heart**

_Just a little further..._

_Dammit_, she thought. The crowds around her pushed and jostled uncomfortably, the blond hair she had been seeking faded slowly into the masses, and a deep, dark, heavy feeling had settled and was weighing down on her heart.

Ever since that day, this had almost become an everyday routine. She was becoming very familiar with the view of his back.

She sat by her window and let her mind wander to a time, not long ago, when everything had been so different...

- - - - - - - - - -

**Valentine's Day**

"Hey, look! I got a rose too!" He said triumphantly, holding up a pink rose in her direction. She grinned. There had always been that element of competition between them – one that they had both never taken seriously, but had hung between them like a secret joke only known to the two of them.

Dropping his bag, he sat two seats away from her; near enough for her to see every smile, but far enough for her to ache to be beside him.

"So... Who's the rose from?" She asked casually, attempting an air of indifference despite the swirling of feelings in her stomach.

He grinned cheekily. "No one you know." He replied. He seemed interested in her reaction to his enigmatic answer.

"Fair enough." She accepted, a hint of a smile playing about her lips – she wasn't going to take the bait.

Later on she saw others with similar pink roses and had found out that it was merely a gift from a classmate who had been giving out roses to anyone and everyone in her classes. She would be lying if she said she hadn't been jealous even for the briefest of moments.

*

A messenger discreetly beckoned to him outside the room. He stepped out, momentarily confused. When he returned, his hand held a single white rose and a red envelope. She quietly admired the white blossom, all the while getting lost in her thoughts of who his 'secret admirer' could be. He had not, like some would have done, made a huge display of it and instead had tucked the rose and envelope away, quelling any other questions.

When their eyes met across the classroom, he smiled – a genuine smile instead of his usual playful grin. The light in his eyes made her feel like everything was alright in the world.

And she forgot about the rose.

*

She resolved to tell him that night. To finally stop skirting the subject and confess her long-concealed feelings for him. Confess and take that risk for the first time. It was just a tiny step, wasn't it? Just one tiny step that could lead to two extremities: happiness, or heartache.

*

Her hands trembled. She became painfully aware of her heart beating out a rhythm, a message, as if in Morse code. She'd never learnt Morse code, never understood what her heart was trying to tell her. _Be careful..._

She told him. She told him everything. Everything she had kept hidden from him spilled out as she waved her hands wildly in the air; like a kettle of boiling water, she was whistling like her life depended on it.

Now all there was to do was wait for his response. And breathe. It was always important to breathe.

Then, just as suddenly as it had came, the weight pressing down on her chest had been lifted. He wasn't pushing her away. It was quite the contrary actually.

She had hoped and dreamed countless nights of this moment. Now that it was really happening, she was finding it all surreal. The rapid hammering of her heart, that had just a moment ago felt like it would burst bloodily from her chest, now felt like it was just a reassurance that she was alive. It was a reassurance that it was really happening, that this wasn't just a dream.

"Give me a moment to breathe."

His lips curved in a soft smile. "You shouldn't have stopped... I hear it's harmful to your health."

She laughed in relief. It was just like him to bring humour into, well, everything. It was one of the things that had won her over after all.

*

That night she fell asleep smiling. And happy.

- - - - - - - - - -

_Stop it! Stop thinking about him._ She shook her head clear. It always hurt to think back to the past, but occasionally (more often than not) she would find her thoughts straying to a particular fair-haired figure. It wasn't too hard. A single word or even the scent of him would turn her head and she would be lost.

- - - - - - - - - -

**Some Time After Valentine's Day**

"Hey," she said, exuding warmth in her voice. She never told him how he had never left her thoughts, despite having spent all that time away from him. She never told him how she had just existed each day, just waiting and wishing for the day when she would be able to see him again. He was here now. Nothing else mattered.

"Hi." His tone civil. Reserved. Distant. He avoided looking at her.

A simple word, and it was all it took for her to realise that it would never be the same between them.

The next few days were no different. There was no more of their usual friendly banter – conversation had become non-existent between them. He barely looked at her, let alone talked to her. Every time she glanced at him and found him determinedly avoiding her eye, she had to look away for fear that her eyes would betray her.

The days turned into weeks and all the while she burned inside, the longing in her shifting and bubbling to the surface until she could contain it no longer. She had to know.

*

"I need you to stop liking me. You have to get over me."

- - - - - - - - - -

She suddenly remembered a scene from when she had been at a park. A child had grabbed a fistful of daisies and ran around, filling the park with shrill giggles. Then he suddenly dropped the flowers and had jumped gleefully on them. Up and down, up and down. After having happily ground the flowers into the dirt, he had looked down and carefully inspected his work. The daisies were broken and torn, the pristine white of its petals now smeared with mud. Satisfied, he then ran off to find this mother.

She closed her eyes, recalling how she had felt when he had said those blunt words to her. She felt like those poor daisies now. Crushed; her heart stepped on; shattered.

She had been so afraid to take another chance. To open up and let someone else in after her heart had been stolen and then broken. Then _he_ had come along with his wit and teasing smiles, always driving her crazy. He had showed her that it was okay to laugh again. It was okay to trust again. It was okay to _live_ again.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she blinked back the tear that was forming at the corner of her eye. She gave a last fleeing look in his direction before turning, and walking away from the boy who had broken her heart.


End file.
